


remind me how to breathe (it's harder than it seems)

by viansian



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sort of AU in some parts, blind!Bellamy, sort of not in others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viansian/pseuds/viansian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are we going to be all right?” she asks softly. </p><p>He chuckles, it’s the first time she’s heard him laugh in months, “Oh, hell no, princess. We’re falling apart.” There is a long pause. “But then again, so is everything else in the universe.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	remind me how to breathe (it's harder than it seems)

She has come to realize that Bellamy Blake is more complex than she could ever begin to understand.

She first realizes it when they are sitting underneath the tree, Dax’s still warm body lying a few feet away. She realizes that he’s more than she expected as the tears slide down the fractures on his face, confessions pouring from his mouth. At first, it breaks her heart. A dull ache is pulled from her chest as she watches the man before her being slowly devoured by his demons, and she wants to help, oh how she wants to help.

So she gives him forgiveness. She gives him the courage to keep moving, to keep going.

But she does not see the enormity, the immensity that is he until after the exodus ship crashes.

She watches with gut-wrenching horror as the ship, their salvation, does not slow as it soars across the atmosphere. She falls to her knees as it collides with the ground in an explosion that lights up the heavens. She vomits as the awareness that her mother was on that ship washes over her and she no longer knows if they are going to get out of this alive.

In that moment, her mind wanders back to her first day on Earth. She remembers what the first breath of air tasted like when the drop ship door had opened and the sun had blinded a hundred juvenile delinquents, wondering if certain death or a new life waited for them past the familiar confines of steel and bolts. She remembers smiling, laughing as she saw the green of trees and the fresh air, unfiltered and unreserved, filled her lungs.

She remembers feeling as if it was the first time she could truly breathe.

How ironic that as she watches the pillar of flames climb up to the heavens from the earth (Earth—the one place in the universe where oxygen was plentiful and they never again needed to worry about suffocating in their sleep) she finds herself unable to make her lungs work. 

What she does not expect are strong hands pulling her hair back over her shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on her back as the bile continues to rise in her throat. She does not expect solid arms to wrap around her as she sobs and pull her close to a firm chest. She does not expect to feel the rough material of his shirt against her cheek nor to hear him softly humming the tune she had sung when Atom died as he rocks her back and forth until she can breathe again. 

She does not expect his complexity.

She remembers the first time she saw him, when he opened the door to the drop ship despite her warnings. His eyes had been strong and defiant, and from the moment she had caught his gaze, she knew that this man wasn’t like the rest of the delinquents. She knew that he was harsher, stronger and much more dangerous than any juvenile criminal she had been sent down with.

The first few days on earth had proved her right. He was cold and cruel, threatening to kill Jasper, goading Murphy and Wells into a knife fight; he played each and every one of the Hundred like they were a fiddle and he was a master violinist. His words pushed and pulled the teenagers in the direction that he wanted and she saw how they loved it. She saw how they loved being led by a man such as he.

The ever confident, silver-tongued, rebellious Bellamy Blake. Surely the man who risked everything to protect his sister would be able to protect them.

She thought she had seen through his façade to his true self, to the selfish man who put himself before others, the cruel guard who had no remorse and no morality.

But then he had broken down in front of her and she realized that what she had seen, what she had thought was him underneath all the lies and the persona, was simply another layer of his mask, a net to catch people like her. If they did not love the leader Bellamy, they would hate the brutal Bellamy. Either way, no one would see his true face, the one who was haunted by his decisions, the one who regretted his actions, the Bellamy that wasn’t perfectly happy with what he had become.

She thought she had seen his true self until that trip to the bunker. Then she had seen his weakness and was sure she saw him for what he was. She was sure she had finally found his limits, his edges; she was sure she could now put him in a box.

But when he had held her in the forest while the metal coffin that held her mother burned in the distance, she realized that she had barely begun to scratch the surface of all that he was.

And now she fears that is all she will ever see.

She is helping plant the small garden they had started in the middle of camp when she hears shouts coming from the north gate. She looks up, curious, and her hearts stop when she sees him being dragged in between Miller and Harper, both screaming to close the gate behind them. There are cuts all over his face, an arrow sticking out of his thigh and a bloodied piece of cloth wrapped over his eyes and tied behind his head in a makeshift blindfold.

Her legs begin to move of their own accord and she runs towards him, arms pumping and her heart caught in her throat. She slips under his arm, all but pushing Harper out of the way as she orders Miller to get him to the drop ship immediately.

His soft moan of pain rings in her ears and it frightens her. 

They get him on the metal table and Clarke instantly whirls to Miller. “What the hell happened out there?” she spits out, masking her panic with anger. 

“We found a dead Grounder,” the boy says through clenched teeth, “which then turned out to not be dead. Bellamy was leaning over her when she woke up. Before we knew what was going on she was clawing at his face.”

She barely comprehends his words; she’s too busy peeling the wet with bloody blindfold off of the only person on Earth that she trusts. As she looks at the mangled skin, red and ripped, her silence seems to beg the question she knows Miller is dying to ask.

“Can you save his eyes?” the delinquent inquires, twisting his black beanie in his hands.

“Find Octavia,” is all she whispers in return.

“Is he going to be able to see at all?” When she doesn’t answer, he continues, “God, Clarke what are we going to do if he’s completely blind? He’s not going to be able to lead. If we-“

 _“Just find Octavia, Miller_ ,” she shouts. She doesn’t look at the boy, knowing the expression on his face without having to see it. Instead, she just covers her face with her hands, his blood mixed with dirt under her nails. “There’s nothing I can do.”

He loses his sight. 

He wakes up in a panic and she’s by his side in an instant. His hands flail around, desperately searching for something familiar until his fingers wrap around her wrist so tightly it hurts. 

“I can’t see,” he gasps, his voice like that of a drowning man. “I can’t see.” 

“I know,” she replies, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice. She brings her free hand up and gently strokes his black hair, letting the thick locks get tangled in her fingers. “I know.” 

He doesn’t speak for days after.

Eventually, she finds an old blanket, rips off a strip of fabric, and brings it to him. He sits in silence as she ties it around his head in a blindfold, covering the scabs and scars over his eyes. Then she grabs him by the hand and tries to lead him outside. 

She tries not to be hurt when he jerks away as if she’s burned him. Oh, how she tries not to be hurt. She tries to push back the bitter taste in her mouth when Octavia is the one who steps forward and slips her hand into her brother’s, murmuring words of comfort and kindness. She tries to not be hurt when he relaxes into his sibling’s touch and follows her slowly to the entrance of the drop ship.

Dear God, she _can’t_ be jealous of his _sister_.

She watches as he stumbles against the lip of the entrance and falls into Octavia, his sister’s strong body being the only thing that stops him from losing his balance entirely. His mumbled apologies are cut off by his sister’s, “It’s fine, big brother. I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” and she forgets to be jealous. Instead, she feels her heart shatter in her chest because even underneath the tree that night at the bunker, even at his lowest moment, she had never seen him so incredibly _lost_.

She follows the siblings through the camp, watching from a distance. She watches as Octavia makes him touch every tent, every tree around camp and then proceeds to tell him what it is.

After the fifth tree she hears the annoyance in his tone as he says, “I _know_ it’s a tree, O. I’m blind, not stupid.”

For just a moment she’s able to convince herself that he might be able to come back from this. 

Later that night she goes to his tent, only to find that he’s not there. She wanders around, asking if anyone’s seen him and calling his name, only to find him sitting right outside of camp, the graves of all the kids who’ve died on this hell of a planet in front of him. She’s found him there a few times before, and normally she’d notice him watching the stars. But this time, his head stays straight forward and instead of looking up at the sky, she sees his fingers shifting as they dig into the soil beneath him.

She sits down next to him, careful not to make any sound until she softly whispers, “Hey.”

His whole body jerks in surprise and he scrambles away for a second, jumping to his feet. Then, as if her voice processed in his mind, he relaxes and mumbles, “Oh, it’s you,” before sitting back down next to her.

She doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to speak. There is a long silence between them and she wonders if he’ll even want to talk to her, it’s not like they were best friends before. She’s just about to stand and leave when she hears his voice.

“We’ve been on Earth for a month and a half,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen Earth for a month and a half and now I’ll never be able to see any of it again.”

Her mind races, searching for the right things to say. “I’ve…I’ve read that when a human loses one sense, the others are heightened,” she stumbles over her words, her voice catching in her throat. “Your hearing, taste, touch, and smell will all be stronger than ever before and-“

She’s cut off by his scoff. “Come on, Clarke,” he snorts, a bitterness he cannot hide behind his apparent mockery. “What am I going to do? _Taste_ a butterfly? _Hear_ the sunlight shining between the trees? _Smell_ the snow?”

Her loss of words must have an impact on him because he drops his head. “Go away, princess,” he says softly. “There’s nothing left for you here.”

There is something left for her.

There’s him. 

But she won’t tell him that. Instead, she obeys him and stands, letting her feet crunch against the dry leaves as she retreats. She tries to ignore the shaky breath she hears from him, but it’s the choked laugh that turns into a soft sob that breaks her heart.

She gets no sleep that night.

~*~*~

The next morning she leaves her tent to find the guards standing around, taking orders from Miller. She walks up and asks him where the hell Bellamy is. Miller shrugs and says that Octavia told him that Bellamy told her to tell him that he should organize patrols. She thinks it’s the longest string of words she’s ever heard the delinquent say (he normally doesn’t speak much). 

The next thing she knows, she’s marching off to Bellamy’s tent to find him curled up asleep in bed.

“Bellamy!” she calls, causing him to startle awake. “Wake up, you need to organize the patrols.”

The dark-haired man has the gall to roll over back in bed and Clarke decides that she's had far too little rest to deal with his bullshit.

“Miller’s on it,” he mumbles into his pillow. “Let me sleep.”

“No,” she insists. “I don’t care if you’re blind, you need to help lead this camp and I am not waiting around while-“

Once again she is cut off by his scoff, this time as he sits up, the strip of cloth she had tied around his eyes as a blindfold still in place. “Lead the camp?” he mocks. “Lead the camp? I can’t lead! In case you haven’t noticed, princess, I can’t fucking see. I can’t go hunting. I can’t even make it around camp without Octavia holding my hand. We both know I’ll never go out into the forest again. How can I protect others when I can’t even take care of myself? I’m not going to help you lead anymore. Sorry, princess, looks like you’re on your own now.” 

She is silent for a long time, a feeling between heartbreak and fury twisting in her chest. “You want out?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Fine. I’ll let you out. I’ll run this camp by myself if I have to.” Turning to leave, she stops right at the entrance to his tent and spits out, “I didn’t know the great Bellamy Blake was a coward.”

She knows the words are unfair. She knows she shouldn’t be pushing him (the man just lost his sight for heaven’s sake). But when he calls her name as she storms out, a few curses following short behind his shouts, she can’t seem to quell her anger enough to speak to him.

How dare he abandon her? How dare he give up?

“Get back to work,” she snaps at the kids who had gathered around his tent, curious as to what their two leaders, well, leader and former leader, were arguing about. “Nothing to see here.”

As the kids wander off, sniggering and pushing each other, a tightness settles into her chest and for the first time since the exodus pod crashed to earth in a blaze of metal, stardust and flames, she feels as if she can’t breathe.

~*~*~

 

She’s talked to Bellamy once in three weeks and she still hasn’t been able to figure out how to breathe again. It doesn’t help that their conversation consisted of her shoving a slab of wood and a small knife into his hands before beginning to walk away.

“What’s this?” he had called out incredulously after her.

“To heighten your sense of touch,” she had replied, not looking back. “Carve me something.”

He never carved her anything. She can’t help but feel a little bitter about it.

Running the camp alone is hard. She works with Miller and Jasper, trying to keep everything in order as well as tending to the injured kids. By the time the first snow falls she doesn’t know if she can do it for much longer.

The two boys do help, but they don’t have the same natural leadership as Bellamy did. They take orders, and occasionally they relay them to the rest of a group. But that’s about all they do.

When sickness hits the camp she knows she’s fucked.

Ten kids sick in the drop ship in half as many days and she simply doesn’t have enough medicine for them all. Their runny noses and bloodshot eyes worry her enough, but when their fevers start climbing she knows that she has to do something. In a moment of weakness she almost goes to Bellamy to ask for his advice.

Then she remembers that he doesn’t want anything to do with leading anymore and she has never felt so alone in her life, her airway tightening and a sharp pang in her chest making it difficult for her to get much needed oxygen.

So she pulls on her boots, dons her extra jacket, and slips out of camp during the break between patrols. She knows it’s stupid, but all the gunners are either too sick or exhausted from trying to cover extra shifts, and she knows she can’t be selfish and take one of them with her. 

As she walks down along the riverbank, the currents moving faster than ever and water spraying up and freezing on her face, she looks for any plants that might survive the snow. When a patch of purple catches her eye, only the relief rivals her sinking feeling of despair.

The plant that she needs so desperately to heal the sick teenagers is growing on a rock a few yards off the shore of the river. The same river that happens to be rushing dangerously quickly with ice-cold waters.

A thousand different courses of action flash through her brain and she wonders why the hell she feels so responsible for all these kids in the first place and what in the world was she thinking when she agreed to help lead these delinquents.

Oh, yeah. Now she remembers. She agreed to lead because she had someone else to lead with.

How convenient said co-leader decided to ditch her.

Letting out a small sigh, she kicks off her boots and socks before rolling up her pants to her knees. A gasp escapes her as her feet dip into the freezing water, but she clenches her jaw and presses forward, ignoring the tingling, that quickly borders pain, in her feet that slowly climbs up her legs with the water.

She’s up to her knees when she reaches the rock. Picking the plants, she can’t help but wonder how the hell a plant can survive better in the cold and snow than a group of teenagers. Her fingers work quickly, plucking the flowers at their stems and her feet are completely numb. She swears her toes have broken off and been swept away in the current.

 Turning to walk back towards shore, she’s just about to put the plants in her bag when her bare foot hits a smooth rock underneath the water.

The water wraps around her like a frozen hand right after she lets out a high-pitched shriek and stumbles backward. The current sweeps her out into the middle of the river before she can stand and when she pulls herself back up to the surface, she gasps without meaning too, inhaling some of the water. Her arms splash violently as she tries to fight the force of the river and get back to shore.

A sharp pain rips through her nerves as she feels herself slammed against a rock protruding above the water. In a final desperate attempt to save herself, she throws her arms out, somehow managing to wrap one of them around the stone before she is swept away yet again.

 There she clings for dear life.

 She doesn’t know how much time passes. Hours? Minutes? Eternities? They all blend together in a mixture of cold and fear. She feels her frozen fingers begin to slip and she lets out a final, desperate cry for help, her muscles aching and her body almost begging for death’s release.

Her arms give out and right before she feels herself engulfed by the cold waters yet again, she hears someone shout her name.

~*~*~

When she finally allows her heavy eyelids to flutter open, she is shivering and there are strong arms wrapped around her back and underneath her knees. Blinking slowly in confusion, she looks up to see dark skin and a black beanie gently swaying above her as the street-wise gunner carries her towards camp.

 “ _Miller?_ ” she asks, not even trying to mask the disbelief in her tone.

 “Jeeze, Clarke. Don’t sound so surprised,” the younger boy mutters, never slowing his pace. “What, you think I’d really let you leave camp alone? Bellamy’d have my head.”

For a second, she has no idea how to respond to that. She knows Bellamy is protective of Octavia, but her? The two of them have hardly spoken in almost a month. She lets out an unsteady breath and curls into Miller, trying to find a little bit of warmth through her sopping wet clothes.

“Are you okay?” the gunner asks, his voice concerned.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

They walk for a little while longer, but soon enough she catches herself staring up at her rescuer in a mixture of wonder and incredulity, wondering a.) why the boy would be so afraid of Bellamy’s reaction to leaving _her_ alone, and b.) how the hell he had gotten her out of that river.

As if he had read her mind (or maybe she had just voiced her question out loud) Miller says, “The current washed you up shore about a quarter mile. I saw you go under and just followed until you were close enough to grab.” There was a long pause. “Clarke, I know you’re the doctor, but are you sure you’re okay? You’re lips are blue.”

“Mild hypothermia,” she replies, mumbling the words into his jacket. “We really should get my clothes off…” She reaches for the hem of her shirt.

“Clarke,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Do you _want_ Bellamy to kill me? Because if you’d like me dead, there are about a thousand potentially less painful ways to go about that. Per say, getting mauled by a giant cat. Or being tortured by Grounders. You know, I’d even go for the acid fog if-”

Her laugh rings out through the woods, cutting him off, and she swears she sees a shadow of a smile dance along his lips. “Bellamy wouldn’t care,” she says through chattering teeth.

“Believe me, he’d care,” Miller says. “But I’m not going to expand on the subject due to the fact that I enjoy breathing and would like to continue to do so. Besides, I can see camp.”

By the time they pass the gates, she can hear people running around and Octavia shouting orders (maybe she should have picked that girl as her second in command rather than Jasper and Miller). Her teeth are chattering uncontrollably and she can’t seem to stop her body from shaking. She hears someone telling her to stay awake, but she feels her eyelids begin to close of their own accord 

“Monty! Monroe! Build a fire!” Octavia yells. “Miller, get her in the drop ship now, and then find my brother. Harper, grab some warm clothes from my tent and a few blankets. Jasper, stand outside the drop ship and make sure no one comes in until Harper gets back. Drew, go and…actually, Drew, stay with Jasper. Miller already left and blind or not, you’re going to need a small army to keep my brother out.”

Octavia’s orders slowly faded into oblivion as Clarke feet herself being laid on the metal table in the drop ship. There is silence for a moment, then she hears footsteps and Octavia’s loud voice screaming, “And don’t you _dare_ let him in here till I say so!”

Opening her eyes, she sees concerned blue eyes come in and out of focus (they are so different from her brother’s, yet so similar; the same passionate rage that she knew she’d never see again). “What the hell were you thinking?” the younger girl chastises. “Going out alone? I mean come on, Clarke! You’re supposed to be the smart one!”

A hoarse chuckle escapes the healer. “Believe me, it’s worse than you think,” she replies, thinking back to when she decided to wade into a freezing, fast-moving river for a few plants.

 “What did you do? No, wait. Don’t answer that. Here, let’s get you out of these clothes. Harper should be coming. I told her to—ah! There you are. Come on, get those blankets ready.”

 Clarke feels the wet clothes being peeled from her body and a warm blanket wrapped around her. Her shivering continues, but she felt herself warming up. “Fire?” she manages to ask.

 There is a silence. Then Octavia sighs. “The idiots started it outside, didn’t they?”

 "Where else were they supposed to start it?” she hears a voice come from a blur a few feet away (she assumes it is Harper).

 “Well, _obviously_ they were supposed to stack the firewood near the drop ship and then bring it in when we were ready. But apparently that’s too much for their dimwitted brains to comprehend. Do me a favor and go tell them to start the fire where Clarke can actually sit by it without getting even _more_ hypothermic.”

 Harper nods and begins to turn towards the drop ship door when suddenly a loud roar breaks the fragile silence between the three girls.

  _“-so get the hell out of my way, Jasper!”_

_“But Octavia said-“_

  _“I don’t give a fuck what Octavia said! If you don’t let me in right now I will personally castrate you in your sleep, skin you alive, and then lock you outside camp to feed whatever mutated animals are out there!”_

Octavia presses her lips into a thin line for a moment, betraying her annoyance. “And that would be my brother,” she says, moving her hands as if she was strangling an invisible person in front of her before she turns on her heel and beings walking towards the door. Pausing for a moment, she throws a pair of pants and a shirt at Clarke.

 “I’ll stall him,” the dark-haired girl calls over her shoulder. “Get some clothes on.”

 Clarke all but falls off the medical table in a scramble to get the clothes on, considering how she doubts even Octavia will be able to hold off her brother for very long. And she’s glad she did because not a second after she jumps back up on the medical table, fully clothed this time, a hurricane of black hair and freckles comes bursting through the door, his sister hot on his trail.

 “Well, at least he didn’t walk in on you naked,” she hears Octavia mutter under her breath. “Not like he would see much anyway.”

 She’s taken aback by Bellamy’s hands suddenly running roughly all over her body, exploring every inch of her. They trace the curve of her waist, her hips and her thighs, only to come back up to her belly and chest (prompting a small squeal from her) and finally up to her neck and face where she quietly lets him touch her mouth and eyelids.

 “Are you hurt?” he asks. “Did you break anything? Any sprains?  What’s this right here? Is this blood? God, Clarke, how could you be so stupid? What if Miller hadn’t been following you? What the hell were you doing by the river?”

 “Now you understand my pain,” Octavia mutters under her breath but Clarke ignores her.

 “I’m fine, Bellamy,” she replies, trying to sooth him by taking his hands in hers, but he jerks away. “I swear, Bellamy. All I did was fall into the river. Just a quick swim.”“A quick swim? _”_ he thunders. “ _A quick swim?_ Clarke, _it’s January_. You were fucking _hypothermic_!”

 She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, letting out an aggravated sigh before looking up and asking Octavia, “Is he always this bad?”

 “Worse. Much, much worse.”

 “Don’t give me that bullshit, Clarke,” the dark-haired man snaps. “Why the _fuck_ did you even _think_ about going out by the river _alone_?” He’s pacing around the drop ship, occasionally bumping into a wall or hitting the corner of the table, pulling a “Fuck!” or a “Damn it!” from him.

 “Well, excuse me, but in case you didn’t know, we have ten sick kids, of which seven are gunners, not enough medicine to treat them. And considering how all of our guards are exhausted as it is, I didn’t want to ask any of them to come with me on what might very well have been a pointless trip! I’m sorry if that makes me stupid, but I didn’t really have a co-leader to bounce any ideas off of, now did I? That’s right, I didn’t because _you_ decided to cop out and leave me to do this _all by my-fucking-self_!”

 She doesn’t know what comes over her, but she’s screaming the last few words and she’s off the table and standing toe-to-toe with Bellamy who somehow _knows_ and is refusing to budge. Her eyes are staring into his blindfold and for a split second, she swears he’s staring back at her; she swears she can see the ghost of brown eyes, alight with rage and unwilling to back down. Then he whirls around and faces the wall, running his fingers through his hair and letting out a shaking breath.

 “Get out of here, O,” he says, his voice dangerously soft.

 “Hell no, big brother. You’ve had this one a long time com-“

 “ _Get the fuck out, Octavia!”_

 Clarke sees anger flash through the younger girl’s eyes before she turns and storms out of the drop ship. She lets out a sigh, knowing that even if she does get things fixed between Bellamy and herself, it’s going to be a nightmare trying to repair things between the Blake siblings.

 Her former co-leader turns back to face her. He doesn’t speak, and for a moment she is able to marvel at everything about him, the way his lips press together in a tight line and his brow furrows, the way she can see his thoughts dancing across his face yet can’t understand them, like he is an open book she has gone to read, only to find that the words are in a language she does not know.

 Letting out a sigh, she rubs her hand over her face and says, “Look, Bellamy, if you want to chastise me you might as well have just kept Octavia in the room and-“

 “ _Clarke._ ” With one syllable he cuts her off. It sounds like he’s choking on her name, like it’s lodged in his throat and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe just like she can’t. It sounds weak, it sounds unlike him and she doesn’t like it. “I almost lost you,” he whispers.

 She scratches the back of her head, slightly uncomfortable with the pure _emotion_ in his voice. “You won’t lose me,” she replies. “I’m stupid but I’m not suicidal.” There is a long silence and she wonders what he’s thinking about. He is so foreign to her, so alien and she finds that she can’t read him like she can with everyone else. She finds that he’s the only one who can balance her and she feels him slipping through her fingers with every second she does not speak. When she finally opens her mouth again, her voice is as soft as the falling snow. “But I can’t keep doing this on my own, Bellamy. I need you. I need you to lead with me.”

 She needs him so much. She needs him like the moon needs the sun. She needs him like a child needs a pair of safe arms to run into when afraid. She needs him like her lungs need oxygen. She needs him more than she’s ever needed anything in her life.

 He turns his head so suddenly she might as well have slapped him. He stays like that for a moment, his profile rough and sharp like the face of a cliff and his whole body ridged. Then he finally speaks.

 “No.”

 The air rushes out of her lungs and she cannot breathe. She cannot breathe because this is more than him refusing her offer of partnership and they both know it. Her mind grasps for strings, for threads to connect the pieces of him that exist in her mind to the reality of the man standing in front of her. She tries to understand, tries to solve the puzzle of why he would refuse her yet again, but as she scrambles for answers, she discovers that she cannot find any.

 “I can’t, Clarke.”

 When she replies her voice is high-pitched, choking and betrays far more than she would wish. “Why not?”

 He has the gall to look sorrowful and she wants to punch him because of it. “The same reason I gave you before. How can I lead when I can’t even carry out any orders I would give myself? We both know I’ll never be able to do all that I used to, no matter how much my senses are ‘ _heightened’._ ” He lets out a small sigh. “I just can’t do it, princess. I can’t. I’m so tired.”

 Stunned into silence, she simply sits on the drop ship table, unable to process his words, his refusal of a request she so desperately needs fulfilled. Then an uncontrollable anger washes over her and she jumps to her feet and heads for the door.

He must have heard her move because he intercepts her path immediately. “Clarke, please,” he all but begs (the Bellamy she knew would never beg). “Where are you going?”

“To see if the guards haven’t thrown away the plants I jumped into a freezing river to get,” she snaps, stepping around him. “And maybe save a few sick kids’ lives while I’m at it.”

His hand shoots out faster than she could’ve ever expected and wraps around her forearm so tightly it hurts. She’s forced to stop in her tracks and she can feel his nails digging into the soft flesh of her inner arm.

“ _Jumped_?”

Shit.

“ _Jumped?_ ” he roars. “You _jumped?_ Of your own free will? Clarke, are you _sure_ you aren’t suicidal?”

She breaks free of his grasp and runs, the ghost of his touch crawling on her skin, phantom serpents twisting their way underneath her flesh. She hears him bellowing her name behind her, but she doesn’t look back, she doesn’t stop and she doesn’t answer his question. 

Is she suicidal?

She doesn’t know. But the ever-present noose around her neck tightens, restricting her airway once more and she knows that without him, she might as well be.

 She’ll die any which way.

 

~*~*~

She’s able to avoid him surprisingly well considering how they live in a camp of under a hundred people (she lost four of the ten kids who were sick and she still dreams of the light fading from their eyes as she knelt over them). After a while she starts to wonder if it’s possibly because he’s avoiding her as well.

The thought hurts more than she’d like to admit.

 She tries to survive without him, tries to keep things running smoothly. Octavia starts helping more, and Miller and Jasper become tethered to herself and her former co-leader’s sister (it’s almost amusing to see the two boys stumble over themselves in an attempt to fulfill Octavia’s orders before she can give them any more). Their clever hands and witty comments make life bearable, but she still feels like she can’t breathe when she goes to bed at night.

 A few times she wakes up crying. Octavia somehow is always there shushing her softly and it always ends with Clarke lying awake in bed, asking the younger girl not to mention the incident to anyone as she walks back to her own tent. She’s grateful when the head of dark hair nods every time.

 She knows that Octavia can keep a secret, which is why she trusts her. That is, until one day she’s out wandering in the forest and she hears voices nearby.

 “-and you’re avoiding her! I can’t believe you, Bell. You’re acting like a coward.”

 “Don’t call me that, O.”

 “Why not? Because you’re afraid it’s true?”

 She sneaks up quietly and peers around a tree, watching as the only two siblings in the universe argue yet again. Bellamy is sitting on a fallen log, his face in his hands and Octavia is standing over him, a fierce expression on her face.

 “Do you know how many times I’ve woken her up from nightmares? Do you know how many times I’ve seen her come so _incredibly_ close to just breaking down? God, Bellamy. I wish you weren’t blind just so you could see the bags under her eyes. She looks like she’s been to hell and back since you fucking _abandoned_ her.”

 She waits for the dark haired man to reply, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, heartbreak etched on his brow. There is a silence that lasts an eternity and when he finally speaks, his voice is so soft, so broken; she doesn’t think she’s ever hated a sound quite so much.

 “Is…is she really that bad?”

 “She’s worse, Bell.”

 She doesn’t stay any longer. She turns on her heels and she runs away because the tone of his voice terrifies her. It terrifies her that he knows how close she is to breaking, that he knows that she’s not okay. It terrifies her that he knows that she can’t continue much longer without him.

 And it terrifies her that he may still not do anything about it.

 Two hours later, when Octavia all but storms into camp with Bellamy following, a storm in her eyes and his shoulder slumped in defeat, Clarke feels the despair inside her claw at her heart and climb up her windpipe like a wild animal in her throat.

 And she swears there is not enough oxygen on Earth to give her another breath.

 

~*~*~

The nightmares are always the same.

They always start with her mother.

 Her mother, whose kind eyes and soft smile would always cheer her up when she was sad, is now looking at her from the other side of a sheet of glass, expression devoid of any warmth.

 Clarke turns to see two wide doors behind her and suddenly realizes what is going to happen.

 She is about to share the same fate as her father.

 Her mother’s hand hovers over the button for a moment, and Clarke throws herself at the glass, pressing her hands up against it and screaming, begging her not to press the bright red button just inches below her palm.

 "Mom,” she sobs. “Mom, please! Please don’t do this! Mom, please! It’s me, Mom. Mom, it’s me! _I’m your daughter!_ ”

 Abby Griffin’s eyes slowly lift from the button to her only child’s and they are as grey as the stones of the Earth she’ll never see. “I did not spare your father,” she whispers, and yet somehow the sound is deafening. “What makes you think I’ll spare you?”

Then her hand comes down and all the air is sucked from Clarke’s lungs.

 She wakes up, unable to breathe, with Octavia by her side.

 Day after day, week after week, so it goes. It has almost become a routine for the younger girl to show up in her tent, and wrap her arms around the blonde princess as she sobs hysterically. It is a pattern Clarke is ashamed of but can’t seem to put an end to. She is slowly falling apart, like everything else in the universe.

 The dream is always the same. It always starts the same and ends the same, like a vicious cycle she cannot seem to break. She tries to think her way out of it, tries to find some deeper meaning, but in the end, her thoughts exhaust her and she finds herself lost and wandering among stars, the dread of dreams stronger than the desire for sleep. She knows what awaits her every time she closes her eyes. The dream is always the same.

 Until it isn’t.

 Until she finds herself on the other side of the glass, two guards on either side of her, her mother standing over the bright red button…

 …and Bellamy’s large hands pressed up against the glass.

 She hears him call her name and she throws herself at her mother, screaming profanities and prayers until her throat is raw. The guards’ hands wrap around her shoulders, holding her back, and she feels the hot tears run down her face. The weight of the Earth he’ll never see presses down on her chest, making her breath come in sharp, uneven gasps.

 She tells her mother to take her instead, to leave him alone, to forgive his sins or at least let her take his place.

  _Just let her take his place._

 Her heart stops in her chest when she hears him shout “No!” and press his forehead against the glass. From behind the barrier that separates them, she sees his mouth for the words, “Not her,” and a sharp sob wracks through her body, cracking open her lungs and letting the oxygen seep out of her. His blindfold is tight around his eyes, but she swears she sees tears streaming down his cheeks.

 Slowly, her mother turns to her, her hand still hovering over the button that is red like blood. “Your father died because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut,” Abby whispers, and she swears her mother’s voice is death.

 “No…” the word tastes like poison on her tongue. “No, no, no, no, no.”

 With a wave of the older woman’s hand, Clarke goes mute. “You got your father killed, Clarke,” the brown-haired doctor says, something like sadness in her stoic eyes. “You’ll get this boy killed one day as well. You know that. You’ve always known that.”

 Then her hand slams down on the button.

 Clarke screams.

 She flies up in bed, choking on her own cries and her whole body shaking. She tries to breathe, but she can’t, she can’t, she can’t. Her hands fly, desperately searching for anything to hold on to (where the hell is Octavia?) until they wrap around a strong bicep and rough hands take her face between them.

 “Shit. Clarke, breathe. Come on. _Fuck_. Princess, it’s me. You’ve got to breathe. _Breathe_.”

 She is staring into a grey blindfold and suddenly her breathing is coming in some mixture of gasps and sobs. She throws herself into his arms, burying her face into his chest and feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against her cheek. He stiffens for a moment, before enfolding her into his embrace and pulling her so close it’s a wonder she isn’t pulled into him.

 “I’ve got you,” he whispers and he sounds like salvation. “I’ve got you.”

She prays he’ll never let her go.

“Everything’s so hard,” she finally manages to choke out. “My mom is dead, no one is coming down from the Ark, everyone is looking to me to lead them and I just don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t lead them, Bellamy. I try to be strong, to protect them, but everything just falls apart, kids are dying all around me, I can’t do anything to save them, I try to keep everyone together and safe but they just die anyway and then I go and try to sleep at night and there’s only nightmares, and I swear, _I just can’t breathe_.”

There is silence for a long time as he rocks her back and forth, rubbing his hand in small circles on her back. Wondering if her breakdown was all in her head, if she actually confessed her fears out loud to him, if he heard her at all, she allows herself to relax into his touch as he holds her, much like a lover would.

She almost snorts at the thought. Bellamy Blake. A lover.

 She knows him. She may still not understand him in his complexity, but she knows him well enough to understand that his demons nip at his heels and the fires of hell will lick at his calves if he ever stops running from them. She knows he has a war inside of him and that boys who fight battles with themselves don’t have time to love lost little girls.

 They don’t have time to love girls like her.

 “I know.”

 She is so enraptured in her own thoughts that she doesn’t process that he has spoken at first. It takes a moment for her to pull herself out of her own mind enough to understand the words he said instead of just taking comfort in the sound of his voice.

 “I mean, I understand,” he continues, and though he is next to her, she can’t help but feel like he is miles away. “I get that too sometimes.” Once again, there is a pause. “The universe sure does have a sick sense of humor, that the one place in the cosmos where we don’t have to worry about oxygen is the one place we can’t breathe.”

 Her mind jumps back to when she had thought the exact same thing, and for a moment, she feels as if she has the strength to laugh. Instead she bites her tongue, not wanting to ruin the reverence of their silence.

 Still, she almost hopes he can feel her smile against his chest.

~*~*~

She comes back from herb hunting to find the camp in shambles and everyone gathered around the drop ship. Blood is pouring out of a wound in Jasper’s head, the white cloth he holds stained a burnished red, Harper is next to him, pacing back and forth, and Miller has his beanie off, an act almost unheard of, and is twisting it in his hands.

 Octavia looks as if she’s going to be sick. Her fingers are tightly wrapped around a radio, her knuckles as white as the snow that has begun to fall, and her face is the color of ash. When she sees Clarke, the radio slips from her fingers and she throws herself at the older girl, her hands wrapping around the collar of Clarke’s jacket.

“He’s got Bellamy,” she hisses, on the edge of hysteria. “Clarke, _he’s got Bellamy_.”

Confusion crosses Clarke’s face and she opens her mouth, about to ask what the hell is going on, when Jasper suddenly stands. He looks pale, less sickly than Octavia, but more shaken, and a hint of terror is in his eyes, like an animal that’s just been trapped in a corner and is about to be killed.

“Murphy,” he says. She is surprised at how strong his voice is, how it doesn’t crack and how the power in his tone so sharply contrasts the weakness etched into his posture. “He killed Connor. I saw him and he hit me with a gun and locked the drop ship door. Bellamy offered a trade, his life for mine. He’s in there now.”

It’s as if the blood in her veins has become nitrogen and her heart has gone from a supernova to a black hole. She feels her chest collapsing in on itself and for the first time since her counterpart, the man who was opposite of her in every way, had lost his eyes, she wonders if she’ll have to spend the rest of her life without being able to breathe.

It’s as if her nightmares are coming true. 

In that moment, there is nothing she wants to do more than run up, pound her fists on the drop ship’s metal door and scream for the lunatic inside to let him go, to take her instead of him. But she knows that it will do no good. She knows that in the end, it doesn’t matter if she’s the princess because he’s got the king and there are few things sweeter than revenge.

She knew that when she broke off her wristband, letting a loving mother believe her only daughter was dead.

She knew that when she had seen a makeshift whip crack against the skin of the Grounder that had nearly killed Finn.

She knew that when she had Bellamy’s face fall as she accused him of killing 320 people for his own selfish reasons.

But she also knew that forgiveness, despite its bitter foretaste, was sweeter in the end. She had learned that when she had whispered in the dead of night that she needed the boy who had grown into a man far too quickly, the dark-haired leader that was strong where she was weak and weak where she was strong.

But she didn’t expect a monster like Murphy to understand that.

“Raven’s trying to get in through the engine room,” Miller whispers.

She has to keep herself from running.

When she quietly climbs in through the open hatch to the engine room, everything is too dark and she bumps into a metal pipe, a small ringing noise sounding throughout the room. Raven’s hissed, “Shut up,” is almost a comfort. However, when she says it again a few minutes later, the blonde princess feels more annoyance than ease.

“I didn’t say anything!” she replies indignantly.

“You’re breathing too loud. I can’t concentrate.”

Funny. She feels like she can’t breathe at all.

There is a pause, then Raven gestures across the room to the one source of light, a small hatch barely propped open. Quietly walking towards it, Clarke stands on her tiptoes and peeks into what she can only assume is the drop ship’s main level.

She sees a pair of worn tennis shoes pacing the floor and combat boots standing on a small stool.

_Why the hell was Bellamy standing on a stool?_

“…the king is about to die and from the way the princess has been running the camp, she won’t last long without you. Somebody’s going to have to lead these kids.” Murphy’s voice is cool and calculating and it reminds her of the horror movies her father and she would watch on the Ark.

“Yeah, and who’ll do that? You?” Bellamy’s voice is darker than normal, more dangerous, more throaty. To be honest, it scares her. She hasn’t seen him like that since Charlotte had died, since before they went on their trip to the bunker. Considering the fact he had opened up to her after that trip, she wonders if he’s still the way he used to be around everyone else and just tones it down for her.  “You really think they’ll forgive you for killing me?”

“What was it you once told me…” the tennis shoes move back and forth for a moment and she hears the click of the gun. “Who needs love when you can have fear?” There is quiet for a moment. “Are you afraid yet, Blake?”

The blind, reckless bastard actually laughs (she briefly wonders if he has a death wish). “Of you? Come on, Murphy. You couldn’t scare toddler.”

“Really?” the calm is gone from the boy’s voice and a fresh wave of fear washes over Clarke for her former co-leader. “Because that blonde bitch seemed pretty scared when I had a knife to her throat that night when Charlotte jumped.”

There is silence and this time, it’s Murphy who laughs. He knows he’s struck a nerve. His feet move out of Clarke’s view as he walks to the other side of the drop ship.

“You know, maybe I’ll go pay her a visit once I’m done with you. She’s always had a bit of a fighting streak; I’ll have to put her in her place. How does it make you feel to know that I’ll be able to have her in ways you never have?”

“ _You goddamn son of a bitch!_ ”

She watches as his feet move, standing on the edge of the stool. Suddenly, he goes on his toes, barely balancing on his platform. Over Murphy’s insane laughter, she can hear the sound of the only person in every world that she trusts choking.

Her hand flashes forward to cover her mouth and muffle the scream that nearly escapes her.

_Oh my god. Oh my god._

He’s hanging him. 

He’s fucking hanging him.

A small shout sounds from behind her and Raven drops the wire she was holding, her fingers going into her mouth to sooth the burn she had just inflicted on herself.

“Maybe that’s her now.”

Her heart stops in her chest and she knows that if Raven is caught, any hope of saving Bellamy will be gone. They will all die and Murphy really will end up with the camp in his power. So she does the most irrational, thoughtless thing she has done in her life.

She throws her shoulder against the hatch and climbs into the main level of the drop ship.

She doesn’t say anything, part of her is afraid of letting Bellamy know that she’s really there. As she looks into the drop ship, she sees a red harness tied in a noose around his neck and his blindfold still tightly tied around his head. His fingers are desperately prying at the rope, but to no avail.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shoots through her head as Murphy wraps his fingers around her hair and jerks her head back painfully. “Well, well, well,” he says, his breath hot against her ear. “Look who we have here. Go ahead. Say his name. Let him know that his stupid princess tried to play hero yet again.”

There is a long pause before Bellamy finally speaks. “Clarke?” The one word, one syllable, is choked out, forced passed his vocal chords like a bird pushed out of the nest to early, fluttering on the absent wind as it stumbles from his lips and falls to her ears. It sounds like a prayer, a plea, a curse and a promise all at once and she wonders, she _marvels_ , at all that he is. All his intricacy, his complexity; he is more than she can ever understand, more than she’ll ever have the chance to understand. For a moment, that marvel drowns out her fear, only to have it all come rushing back along with a pained, “Ah!” as Murphy jerks her hair once more.

“Go ahead, princess,” Murphy breathes. “Call his name.”

She bites her lip so hard she tastes blood.

A sharp jerk of a madman’s hand and she feels an entire handful of her hair pulled out of her scalp. “ _Bellamy!_ ” she cries out against her will and prays he doesn’t recognize her voice.

Her prayers go unanswered.

He struggles against the harness, red like blood around his neck. He screams. He whispers. He begs Murphy to let her go.

“It’s me that you want!” he yells. “She has nothing to do with any of this!”

 His prayers go unanswered.

 “I wish you could still see,” Murphy drawls. “She looks so terrified. It’s really a shame that you can’t. Quite pathetic actually.”

 “Murphy, please,” he begs. “I’ll do anything.”

 A slow smile spreads across the delinquent’s face; it is the most terrifying thing she has ever seen. “Blake, that’s the best part. You _can’t_ do anything.”

 His leg shoots out and knocks the stool out from under the blind, dark-haired man she can’t live without.

 The rope goes tight.

 She screams.

 He chokes.

 And the drop ship doors open.

She is instantly thrown to the ground, her forehead colliding painfully with the metal floor, as Murphy turns and runs. Octavia shouts something she doesn’t understand because she’s much to busy, crawling towards the place where the rope that’s strangling Bellamy is tied. Her fingers shake and tremble as she tries to untie the knots, but she can’t.

_She can’t._

He’s dying and she can’t untie _the_ _goddamn rope_.

A knife descends inches above her fingers and the red rope goes slack, a dark mop of hair collapsing to the ground with a gasp. She stumbles over to him, almost losing her balance (she must have gotten a concussion) and rolls him onto his back, his face grasped in her palms like he had so many night ago when he had stumbled in upon her in the nightmare she was now living.

  _“You trust Murphy now?” he had asked, his voice skeptical and bitter as he wipes blood off his mouth._

_“Trust? No,” she replied. “But I do believe in second chances.”_

As she remembers the conversation in which she let a vengeful psychopathic murderer back into their camp, her mother’s words ring in her head.

“ _You’ll get this boy killed one day as well. You know that. You’ve always known that._ ”

She nearly got him killed.

She nearly got him killed.

“I’m assuming from your sudden silence that you’re freaking out.”

Her mind almost doesn’t process his words. Jasper stands a few feet away, hunting knife still clutched tightly in his hand. Her former co-leader’s voice is hoarse and raspy; it does not sound like his voice. As she brings herself back to reality, she feels him leaning into her touch, a look of exhaustion on his face.

She suddenly jerks away, standing and looking down at his now kneeling form. “ _Are you suicidal_?” she screeches. “What were you thinking, going in there without a plan, without talking to me first!”

Bellamy stands as well, and she can already see bruises forming along his neck, a strange color against his skin. “If I hadn’t Jasper would’ve died!” he yells back, his exhaustion replaced with fury. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing!”

“That’s not the point!” she shouts. Her blood has gone from ice to fire in a moment. Now that she knows he’s alive (that she hasn’t killed him), she will let him know just how foolish he’s been to put his own life at risk. She knows he can’t see her, but all the same she steps up into his space, jamming a finger into his chest for emphasis. “You can’t die, Bellamy Blake! Do you hear me? _You can’t die_! This is bigger than just you! I don’t care if you don’t want to lead, hell, I don’t care if never give another order in your life! But just because you can’t see doesn’t mean that you ever stopped being a leader in this camp. These kids still look up to you, still love you. _They_ _still need you!_ And you have the gall to try and abandon them by taking the easy way out _and dying!_ How could you do that? How could you even think about doing that when you know that they need you! When you know that I still need you too _! When you know that I can’t breathe when you’re not around!”_

There is a shocked silence as she realizes a.) what she said and b.) that everyone in the drop ship has heard her. The room suddenly seems all too small and it’s as if there is a noose of her own tightening around her neck, making her unable to breathe. So she does the only thing she can think to do: she turns on her heel and runs, her legs pumping as she races out of camp and into the woods. She runs and runs and runs until she reaches the edge of the cliff where Charlotte jumped.

She stands there for a while, looking out into the sky as she feels herself falling apart, unable to breathe despite the abundance of oxygen all around her.

She hates that she needs him so much, but she’s tried to live without him and she’s come to realize that she just can’t. He is her other half, her counterbalance, her sanity. As she closes her eyes, she sees him hanging, his legs kicking thin air, searching for a foothold that’s not there, and her lungs collapse all over again.

The sound of leaves crunching brings her back to reality. Whirling around, she sees a blindfold and a head of messy, dark hair approaching her. Somehow, he finds his way next to her and sits down, staring out at a sunset he cannot see.

Slowly, as if to not scare an injured animal, he reaches into his pocket and produces a small, wooden butterfly. It’s edges are crude and rough, the details asymmetrical and off center, but it is a thing of beauty nevertheless.

“The woodcarving helped,” he states simply as he sets it beside her. “With the sense of touch and all.”

She picks up the carving and runs her fingers over the wings, remembering all those weeks ago when she had shoved the piece of wood and knife into his hands, telling him to make her something.

 “Thank you,” she murmurs.

 “I, um…” he trails off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I don’t think I ever told you, but I need you too.” When she doesn’t respond he continues, “It’s been hard. I just feel…damn it, Clarke I just feel so worthless. I feel like I can’t do anything, but you…you give me hope. When I’m with you…well, it’s the only time I can breathe. You make things seem like they can be better, like _I_ can be better. It actually scares me sometimes. I guess what I’m trying to say is…” he trails off and scratches the back of his head. “I’ll lead.”

Her gaze is instantly pulled away from the watercolor of reds and pinks to look at the masterpiece of a man before her. Her lips part, half with wonder, half with words she has not yet thought up, and she looks at him like he’s the one thing in this world that can save her.

Because as the words pass his lips, oxygen passes hers.

“I mean, things get kind of boring without you to bicker with, and you seem pretty stressed from what people tell me. Plus Jasper and Miller are a goddamn _mess_ according to Octavia, and we both know someone’s got to keep them in line-“

He’s rambling now, and to cut him off she grabs his hand and strokes her thumb across his knuckles. “I’m cool with that,” she whispers, a smile dancing on her face.

They are two sides of the same coin, vastly different, yet impossible to exist without the other. Her mother was wrong. She won’t get him killed. She’ll save him. And he’ll save her.

They already have.

As they watch the sun set, she, for some odd reason, is unable to stop the tears of relief, sorrow and something that she cannot name from spilling over her eyes.

“Bellamy?” she finally whispers.

“Hmm?”

 “Are we going to be all right?” Her voice is much softer, much more vulnerable than she’d like it to be.

 He chuckles. It’s the first time she’s heard him laugh in months, “Oh, hell no, princess. We’re falling apart,” he replies. There is a long pause. “But then again, so is everything else in the universe.”

 He’s right. It’s the law of entropy, the idea that everything that has order eventually falls to chaos.

“And, you know,” he shrugs, “if everything else is falling apart, just like us, we can’t be too far off track, can we?”

She laughs.

When she first landed on Earth, she had felt her dreams collapse around her as the paradise turned out to be a death trap, a hell waiting to kill them at every turn. She had felt as if the world was caving in around her and nothing would ever be all right.

But as she sits next to him, her fingers intertwined between the gaps of his, she discovers that for once, everything is all right.

Everything is all right.

And she can finally breathe.

* * *

 

**(A/N Hey, everyone! I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while to rewrite the Murphy/hanging scene with Clarke there (well, actually, it was to have Clarke notice the bruising around Bellamy's neck and ask him what happened but whatever, close enough). Then, the idea of having a blind!Bellamy popped up and this thing kind of came to be. Huge thanks to the wonderful[blackravenswing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackravenswing/pseuds/blackravenswing) for editing and for letting me dangle this out in front of her without giving her so much as the title for almost a month (sorry about that by the way!), and to [coldsaturn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldsaturn/pseuds/Coldsaturn) for inspiring me get back into the swing of writing Bellarke by gifting the AWESOME[ Bowstring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2268732/chapters/4983816) to me. Love you both so much! Hope you all enjoyed it! Feedback is appreciated! Follow me on [tumblr](viansian.tumblr.com) or [FF.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5549839/)!)**

 


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